Right after I dropped out of Oakwood High School and moved out of my parents' house,
I needed work real bad.
I would have done pretty much anything for rent money at that time in my life.
So I'm lucky or unlucky, depending on how you look at it,
that the local Evergreen Cemetery needed employees.
At first, the old-timers who had been working there for 20 or 30 years just wondered
why someone so young would ever want to be a gravedigger.
It was tough work, hell on the lower back,
but I soon adjusted, and it turned out to be something more akin to a free gym membership than an actual job.
I mean, I got swole pretty damn fast.
If I'm honest, it only ever felt like work if the weather was bad or we had an actual funeral on-site.
Otherwise, it was just nice to be able to spend time outdoors.
So, the way our cemetery was set up was pretty simple.
The majority of the grounds were just regular grave sites, all pretty much the same size and same price.
But the northwest corner of the grounds was a private site that contained much larger plots.
These were reserved for wealthier families, and the local Undertaker made a lot of cash from selling extravagant grave setups to them.
I'm talking whole mausoleums, statues of angels, stuff like that.
We hardly ever visited that area of the site except for cleaning and maintenance duties, and those were never assigned to me.
I didn't take it personally,
but the older guys just didn't trust me with all the cleaning chemicals and what not that kept the marble and brass fixtures looking fresh.
Which is why it was so weird when I got a phone call on one of my days off, asking me if I had been up to that area recently.
My boss was pissed; I could hear it in his voice,
and he pulled no punches when he asked me if I had been screwing around in the northwest plots.
Of course, I told him no,
that the last time I had been up there was to watch one of the old-timers using the marble cleaning chemical as part of my training, and that had been months back.
He sighed, seemed confused and confounded, so I asked him what exactly the issue was.
He replied that it could wait until the next time I was at work.
I was worried, sure, but I was pretty sure that I hadn't done anything wrong,
not deliberately anyway, and especially nothing that involved the northwest plots.
A couple of days later, when I rolled into work, the atmosphere was tense as hell.
I knew something fairly serious had happened.
All I knew was that I wouldn't have to badger anyone to find out why.
The boss man walked me out to the northwest plot, silent the whole way,
and I knew better than to open my mouth until I found out exactly what was going on.
There was already a worker up in the plot, tending to one of the graves.
That's when my boss told me that if I had been hanging around the area,
maybe during my lunch break, eating a few snacks among the opulent grave sites, now would be the time to tell him.
I swore to God that I hadn't, that I knew better than to eat stuff near the graves as I had been well informed.
It attracts wild animals that can, in turn, do damage to some of the resting places.
That's when he broke it down for me.
Something had tried to dig up one of the freshly dug graves in the northwest plots.
He said something in particular, and not someone
because we each had enough experience to recognize when a grave had been dubbed with tools or by hand or,
in this case, by claw.
It was rough around the edges, obvious claw marks in the dirt, as opposed to the straight lines carved out by a shovel.
This was something of an emergency, I mean, for obvious sanitary reasons, but for sentimental reasons too.
If local families discovered that wild animals were trying to dig up their deceased relatives, there would be an uproar.
Something had to be done, and quickly.
A meeting was called among the gravediggers and attendants.
As far as we knew, the mysterious digging had taken place overnight and was most likely undertaken by some kind of scavenger animal,
a coyote, a black bear, maybe even an escaped dog.
The solution was obvious a night watchman would have to be present in the cemetery every night until the situation was resolved.
And guess who was volunteered to be the night watchman for the first full week You guessed it,
the young guy. the new guy. me.
The only thing that made the proposal even vaguely attractive
was the fact that anyone doing the night work would be paid double the regular rate, and I could definitely have done with the extra cash.
The first night of being on watch really sucked.
All I had for company was a thermos of strong coffee and the eerie silence of the cemetery.
It was a moonless night, and the darkness seemed to press in on me from all sides.
The only source of light was the feeble glow of the lampposts scattered throughout the grounds,
casting long, creepy shadows that danced around the tombstones.
I tried to keep myself occupied by patrolling the area,
shining my flashlight into the nooks and crannies, looking for any signs of disturbance.
Every rustle of leaves or creaking branch made me jump, my heart pounding in my chest.
I couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched, as if unseen eyes were following my every move.
Hours passed with no sign of any intruder or animal activity.
I started to relax a little, thinking that maybe it had been a one-time occurrence.
But just as I was about to let my guard down, a strange sound echoed through the night—a low,
guttural growl that seemed to come from the direction of the northwest plots.
My heart leaped into my throat as I hurried towards the source of the noise.
As I approached the area, the growl grew louder, mixed with a series of eerie howls that sent shivers down my spine.
I aimed my flashlight at the ground, and what I saw
made my blood run cold.
The dirt around one of the graves was being dug up again,
but this time, it wasn't the work of a scavenger animal.
The claw marks were deeper, more deliberate, as if made by something with intelligence.
My mind raced, trying to come up with a logical explanation, but nothing made sense.
There shouldn't have been anyone or anything capable of doing this.
Summoning all my courage, I cautiously moved closer to the disturbed grave.
The growling intensified, and I realized it was coming from underneath the ground.
The thought of what could be lurking beneath sent a chill down my spine, but I had to investigate.
I had to know what was causing this disturbance.
With trembling hands, I reached for the shovel I had brought with me.
As I began digging, the growling grew louder and more desperate, echoing through the night.
Sweat poured down my face, mixing with the dirt as I frantically dug deeper, my heart pounding in my ears.
Finally, I hit something solid.
I cleared away the dirt, revealing a wooden coffin—someone's final resting place.
But the lid was cracked, and jagged claw marks marred the surface.
Fear mixed with curiosity as I pried open the lid, revealing the horrifying truth.
Inside the coffin lay a creature unlike anything I had ever seen.
Its eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, and its body was a grotesque fusion of human and animal features.
The growls emanated from its twisted mouth as it struggled against its restraints.
I stumbled back, my mind unable to comprehend what I was witnessing.
This couldn't be real.
It had to be a nightmare, a figment of my imagination.
But the creature's presence was all too real, and it hungered for something beyond my understanding.
In a panic, I reached for my phone and dialed my boss, desperately explaining the situation.
He listened in silence, his voice trembling as he told me to get out of there immediately and call the authorities.
I didn't need to be told twice.
As I raced out of the cemetery, leaving the creature behind,
I couldn't shake off the feeling that I had stumbled upon something far more sinister than a simple grave disturbance.
The events of that night would haunt me for years to come,
a reminder that some secrets are better left buried
in the darkness of the graveyard.
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